


Lighting Up a Roomful of Possibilties

by CamsthiSky



Category: DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Bruce is a Parent, Dick and Wally kinda fight, Family, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, he's trying his best, some will show up as characters, tagging just in case, the team will be mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-10-14 06:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamsthiSky/pseuds/CamsthiSky
Summary: A series of missing scenes in Young Justice between Bruce and Dick.





	1. Independence Day (1x01) & Fireworks (1x02)

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed as I was watching YJ that Bruce doesn't seem to be as broody as his comicverse self is. I mean, he was trying to give Superman parenting advice, so he must know SOMETHING when it comes to parenting. And this is kind of the result of that thought process. There will probably be at least one for every episode after this. I did these together for obvious reasons. So yeah. Here's goes. Enjoy!

Batman tried not to physically show his frustration to the other Leaguers. It was a bad situation, but something they should have expected—something _he_ should have expected—and now was not the time to lose his cool.

All three of them were gone. The Hall of Justice was empty, devoid of any partners, and in Batman’s experience, that meant nothing good. Now, all he could do was figure out where they went, and then go with the other Leaguers to retrieve them, hopefully before their partners found themselves in trouble.

“They’re gone,” the Flash said, just blinking at the empty room. “Where are they?”

Green Arrow met Batman’s eyes. “You don’t think they got fed up and walked out, do you?”

No. That was Batman’s first thought. Because as rebellious as Robin could be, he knew how to express his feelings. When he was happy, unhappy, and the like., he would say so. He wasn’t Batman. He didn’t brood. He just needed a little time to cool off and then he would say what was bothering him, and Batman—or Bruce. Usually Bruce. Batman was even more hopeless than Bruce was sometimes—would do his best to fix it.

Yes, Robin had run off before, but he’d never just walk away from Batman like Speedy did Green Arrow. So, no. Batman knew Robin well enough to know that the Leaguer’s partners hadn’t walked away from them.

They probably did something equally as stupid, though. They were a bunch of teenagers looking to prove something, and Batman didn’t put it past them.

Batman didn’t say this. Instead, he walked to the computer on a hunch, pulling up the history—there. Robin had hacked into the system and accessed the League’s files on Cadmus. So, they had heard Batman say he wanted to investigate the laboratory and decided to go themselves.

This didn’t seem like it would end well. Especially because Batman knew a few more things about Cadmus than the barren file suggested.

“Cadmus?” Aquaman read over Batman’s shoulder. “The lab that Superman said caught on fire?”

The Flash zipped over. “What about it?”

“That’s where they are,” Batman growled. He tapped the communicator in his ear, even knowing he probably wouldn’t get an answer. “Robin, report.”

Unsurprisingly, nothing but static. The Flash and Aquaman tried to connect with Kid Flash and Aqualad. Same result.

“Communications are jammed,” Green Arrow said. He looked frustrated, and it wasn’t hard to understand why. All of their partners were missing, but Arrow’s partnership had just been shattered into a million unfixable pieces. “What do we do now?”

Batman walked towards the door, cape sweeping behind him, hand already tapping his communicator to change it to the League frequency. “Simple,” he said. “We go and get them.”

* * *

 

Bruce didn’t know who to be more upset with, Dick or himself.

“What were you _thinking?”_ Bruce growled, and it was his Batman voice more than his stern voice, even with his cowl down in the safety of the BatCave. Dick, his mask off, too, flinched, and Bruce tried not to feel too guilty. Dick needed to understand this. “You took Aqualad and Kid Flash on an _unauthorized_ mission.”

“I didn’t take anyone anywhere,” Dick argued, recovering rather quickly. “We all agreed on it. You guys were treating us like we were little kids. Like we still needed training wheels on our bikes.”

“Dick, you’re _thirteen-_ ”

“I’ve been doing this since I was nine!”

“Yes,” Bruce agreed, and he found his voice going quiet and almost gentle without his consent, his anger fading as the real reason he was so upset set in, “but you disappeared on us. How do you think we felt when we came back and all three of you were gone? And right after Speedy. You could have been killed.”

Dick looked away, and Bruce sighed. Despite the arguments otherwise, Bruce did learn _something_ about interacting with Dick in the four years since he’d come into Bruce’s life. Sometimes, Dick just needed a moment or two to put things into perspective. Bruce just needed to give him the time. It was better to let him think on that than continue this argument.

Bruce settled a hand on Dick’s shoulder, noting the torn uniform and filing it away for later. “Listen, Dick. I get it. You three feel like you’ve been under the League’s shadow for too long. You’re looking to stand on your own two feet, but I want you to understand that letting you do that isn’t exactly easy for us. For me.”

Dick looked up at him, his blue, blue eyes so expressive, full of hesitance. But at least he was listening, now. “I’m not a kid anymore, Bruce,” he said, just like he did before. “I’ve been in the game long enough to know how it works. I’m ready for this. We _all_ are.”

Bruce sighed. “I’m not going to stop you, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I do want to keep an eye on you. Kid or not, you’re still my partner. Looking out for each other is what we do.”

Dick grinned at him, sudden and blinding. And then he was off, practically skipping to the showers. Bruce shook his head at the sudden change in mood. Looks like he did something right this time. Communicating was hard, but Bruce didn’t deny the results. Or the relieved feeling he got when Dick smiled at him.

God. He would never get used to being a parent.

* * *

“Table, Dick.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“A building just fell on top of you. Table. _Now.”_

“Fine. Let the court know that I’m do this under protest.”

“Noted, Master Dick. Now please let me wrap your injuries.”

Bruce shook his head and let Alfred take care of Dick’s injuries, barely catching Dick murmur something about Alfred not being “whelmed” as he walked away. Whatever that meant.

Things were going to change, Bruce realized as he sat down at the Batcomputer to start planning for Dick’s new team. Dick was going to be on a _team_. He was growing up, not that nine-year-old little boy who hid under the bed after a nightmare, or crept into Bruce’s room during a thunderstorm (that seemed a little backwards to him, but that was Dick).

It looked like Bruce had a lot of work to do, and a lot to think about.


	2. Welcome to Happy Harbor (1x03)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try my best to update these weekly, and it will usually be on Sundays. Don't hold me to that, though. I don't have a very good track record with keeping up with update schedules.
> 
> So here's the next chapter! Enjoy!

“Can you rotate your shoulder?” Bruce asked, staring at Dick’s bare back with a copious amount of concern. He didn’t see anything wrong with it, but from what Dick had told him, he’d hit the wall pretty hard. It hadn’t been what he’d had in mind when he had let Dick bond with the others at Mount Justice.

(Well, he’d thought _team bonding._ And fighting a villain was technically _team bonding._ Just not exactly what he’d had in mind.)

“Dick?” Bruce prodded when the teen didn’t answer his question. He leaned around the front of the exam table—which was being used _way_ too much lately—to get a better look at Dick’s face. He was staring off into space, a troubled look in his eyes. In other words, not listening to a single thing Bruce said. Bruce sighed and nudged Dick a little. The boy came alive the moment Bruce’s hand touched him.

“Huh?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Welcome to the land of the living.”

“What do you—did I space out again?”

“Second time since you got home from the Cave.” Bruce hopped up on the table next to Dick. “You got something on your mind?”

Dick chewed on his lip for a moment before asking, “Do you mind if I borrow your big brain for a minute?”

“Not happening.”

“Wait. What?” Dick asked, blinking at him in confusion, missing Bruce’s joking tone. He really _was_ out of it.

“Last time you asked me that, Batman ended up with a new partner. And why does it have to be _my_ brain? Why not Alfred’s?”

“Bru- _uce,”_ Dick practically whined, but it achieved the desired effect. The kid looked a little happier than he had moments earlier.

“But seriously,” Bruce asked. “What’s up with you? You’ve hardly said more than a few words since you got back.”

Dick grimaced. “I’m not really sure how to explain it.”

“Well, you’re going to have to try, kiddo,” Bruce chuckled good-naturedly. “I can’t read minds.”

_Wrong thing to say,_ Bruce’s mind helpfully supplied when Dick just ducked his head, back to biting his bottom lip again—a habit he needed to stop. That really wasn’t good for him, and if Alfred caught wind of it, he’d probably blame Bruce (which wasn’t fair, because it wasn’t _Bruce’s_ fault. Not really).

“Dick?”

“We ended up working really well together,” Dick finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it started off so horribly. And when things went south, we blamed M’gann without even giving her a second chance.”

“You feel guilty,” Bruce guessed, though it wasn’t a hard leap to make. He’d read the report that Red Tornado had sent him. “You’re the most experienced out of all of them, and you let yourself get pulled into the team’s inexperience.”

Dick shot him a withering look. “You sure you’re not secretly Martian? Did you somehow obtain mind-reading powers while I wasn’t looking?”

“You think I could sneak it past Alfred if I did?”

“Probably not,” Dick acquiesced. “Still, you’re too good at guessing what’s wrong.”

“I’m Batman,” Bruce told him. “Detective work _is_ part of my job, you know.”

Dick fake-scoffed. “That wasn’t even the right _voice._ There was too much Bruce.”

Bruce dropped his voice into the growl he used under the cowl. “I’m Batman.”

Dick snapped his fingers. “Bingo.”

They both laughed a little, and Bruce was glad to see that despite Dick’s quietness, he was still up to joking around when it got around to it. It meant that although the guilt was weighing on his mind, he wasn’t brooding over it, like Bruce would do if Batman made a mistake.

When their laughter tapered out and silence settled again, Bruce put an arm around Dick’s shoulders, careful with his injured one, and pulled him into a half-hug. Dick, the cuddliest kid in the entire world, accepted it graciously, even leaning into the hug.

“You know,” Bruce said after a moment, “I know I’m not the best example when it comes to forgiving myself—” Dick snorted “—hey. I mean it, Dick. I know I tend to make it hard for both of us to make mistakes—”

“Because there’s no _room_ for mistakes,” Dick interrupted. “You’ve told me that enough times, not to mention that I’ve experienced it enough for myself. Even just one mistake can get people killed.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, and he hated how matter-of-fact Dick was about it, but it was true. “That’s right. Mistakes are dangerous, and that’s why I’ve prepared you for as much as possible, including thinking before you act. Which you didn’t do today.”

Dick cringed. “I know that I shouldn’t have just taken Miss Martian’s word for it—”

“No, you shouldn’t have, Dick,” Bruce said, “but I didn’t say that to make you feel worse. What I really want to say is that even though I’ve trained you for everything I could possibly think of, you’re human, Dick.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Dick grumbled, but he didn’t break away from Bruce like he’d expected. Instead, Dick buried his face in Bruce’s chest.

Bruce sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I meant that you’re still growing and learning, even if you do have the most experience on this new team. Emphasis on _new._ Not everything will go to plan, and with a new team comes a different way of doing things, and new experiences that mess with your head.” Bruce squeezed Dick’s far shoulder comfortingly. “It will get better, Dick. But for now, learn to work with your team and remember your training, and eventually, _eventually_ you’ll be able to work as a cohesive unit, and you know what happens then?”

“What?” Dick asked.

“It will be harder to make mistakes like you and your team made today. You will all know each other’s abilities and you’ll be able to work together easier to figure out the situation.”

“But we totally left her out, Bruce,” Dick whispered. He was stuck on that. He couldn’t get past it, and it was probably Bruce’s fault. “She looked so devastated, and we left her out, even though she was just trying to help.”

“I know,” Bruce told him, “but it happens. Are you going to do it again?”

“No.”

“Then that’s that,” Bruce told him. “That’s all you can do now. Learn from your mistake, and move on. Again, I’m not the best at forgiving myself, but you and I both know that Batman rarely makes the same mistake twice, right?”

“Right.”

“So don’t do it again,” Bruce repeated. “Forgive yourself, but don’t forget. Think things through next time.”

Dick nodded. “I will.”

“Better?” Bruce asked, pulling away enough to see Dick’s face.

Dick just shrugged, but he had a small smile on his face. “A little. At least, I don’t think I’ll stay up all night brooding about it like you do.”

Bruce huffed a laugh. “Alright, that’s enough of serious talk time. I’m pretty sure Alfred has some cookies waiting upstairs for you.”

Dick’s face lit up. “Sweet!”

“Wait,” Bruce said as Dick pulled away, stopping the boy before he could start for the stairs. Dick looked over at him, head tilted quizzically, and Bruce tried to get over just how quick Dick could push things to the side and move on. “You didn’t answer me. Before.”

“About what?”

“Your shoulder.”

“Oh.” Dick rotated his right shoulder experimentally. “I think I’m alright. Just a little sore. I can move it just fine, so I don’t think anything’s really wrong with it. But I’ll tell Alfred if it starts to feel funny.”

Bruce hummed in agreement. “And what about me? You planning on telling me, too?”

Dick’s lips twitched mischievously. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll already know. I mean, you’re Batman, right? And you have mind reading powers that you’re secretly hiding from Alfred?”

Bruce groaned, making Dick laugh outright as he run up the stairs. “I can’t read minds!” Bruce called after Dick. Oh whatever. It was always good to hear Dick tease him. Bruce just shook his head and headed up the stairs after the teen.

Maybe there would even be a cookie or two left for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are probably typos in this since I didn't edit it much. Sorry. I really wanted to get this up today, and I don't have time the rest of the day. My best friend just came home from boot camp, so I'll be with him. Therefore, no time.


	3. Drop-Zone (1x04)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this last Sunday, but that didn't happen. Mostly bc of school. But like I said, I'm going to try for weekly ot the best of my ability.

“Aqualad, a word,” Batman ordered, silently dismissing the rest of the team. Aqualad nodded, and Robin, Kid Flash, Miss Martian, and Superboy filed out of the room, none of them giving Batman or Aqualad another glance. When they were gone, Batman looked Aqualad in the eye. “I’d like a clarification on something in your report.”

“Of course,” Aqualad said, eyebrows furrowing.

He was probably confused why Batman had let everyone but him go, but this was a delicate matter, and Batman couldn’t afford Robin or Kid Flash to hear this without one or the other exploding at each other.

It was something that he had just barely noticed. It was hardly there, a slight tenseness between Wally and Dick that led Batman to believe that _something_ had happened other than the _“it took us a while to decide who was going to take charge”_ bit that Aqualad had given him earlier.

“Tell me what happened between Robin and Kid Flash.” Aqualad hesitated, and Batman knew he had hit the problem on the nose. He sighed. “So something did happen, then?”

“Yes,” Aqualad said quietly, “but the two of them worked together even so.”

“They didn’t resolve it on the mission, though?” Batman asked.

“No. I do not believe they did.”

But they had pulled together enough to choose Aqualad as leader and finish the mission, was what went unsaid. Batman had to stomp down a surge of pride and sadness at the thought of Robin prioritizing the mission over mending his friendship with Wally. Hopefully now that the two were back at the Cave, they would be able to talk about things.

After all, Robin—Dick—didn’t like to let things like this simmer.

“Dismissed,” Batman said, turning his back on Aqualad and pulling up the holo-computer. He’d give Robin and Kid Flash an hour or two to work through things, and then he’d take Robin home. Hopefully, things would be resolved by then.

Aqualad, though, paused. “Batman. May I express my concerns about something?”

Batman’s gloved fingers hovered over the glowing keys. “I’m listening.”

“It’s…about Robin.”

Batman half-turned back to Aqualad, genuinely wondering where this was going, though it kept his face blank of emotion. “What is it.”

Aqualad looked conflicted. “It’s just…I knew that Robin was young, but I was not aware of how young he actually was,” he said.

“And who told you how young he was?” Batman asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

“Robin and Kid Flash were arguing over who was more qualified to be leader,” Aqualad admitted, “and they each let each other’s ages slip.”

Batman clenched his jaw. So Wally knew Dick’s real age. Dick must have told him directly, because no one else would have, and that meant having a talk about identities. _Another_ talk. If Dick had told Wally about their lives, Wally could potentially spill the beans, just like tonight, even if he didn’t mean to. Wally wasn’t trained the way Dick was, so there was no way to know if this could become a serious security breach or not.

“I see,” Batman said, keeping his voice calm and low, but from the way Aqualad winced, he hadn’t done a very good job hiding his anger. Great. “What’s your concern, then? That he’s younger than all of you? You’re _all_ young.”

“Yes,” Aqualad said. “We all are young. I apologize if you thought that I was insinuating that Robin cannot handle the missions. I did not mean to. My concern was only that from the very beginning, it was apparent that Robin was the most experienced, but as the youngest, I think he made Kid Flash feel inferior. In turn, Kid Flash attacked Robin’s age and lack of powers as a way to get underneath Robin’s skin.”

Batman didn’t sigh. With the cowl up, he never sighed. But it was a very close thing. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

Dick wondered if he was fighting with Wally. Which was weird.

Okay so, Dick didn’t _not_ fight with Wally. He did, it just usually wasn’t in costume. On a mission, of all things. Their _first_ mission. He and Wally knew how to prioritize, how to finish the fight, how to work together, how to keep personal things out of the way. And they had done that pretty well.

At least, except for the last one.

He and Wally had shouted at each other, bringing personal things into their argument _in front of the bad guys._

Which, you know, wasn’t exactly the smartest idea either of them had had before. It was probably one of the biggest “no nos” out there, and Dick and Wally had gone ahead and done it anyways. And now they weren’t really speaking.

Dick slumped into the couch, head in his hands, his mind going through the mission over and over again until he was sure that he’d memorized everything that had happened. He should have known not to go off like that. He should have known that the team wouldn’t have automatically followed his lead just because he thought they should. He should have known not to get into an argument with Wally.

He wouldn’t do it again. Forgive but don’t forget your mistakes, Bruce had said. But that didn’t mean he liked dealing with the consequences.

“Robin.”

Dick looked up to see Batman standing in front of him, looking almost impatient—well. No one but Dick or Clark would have been able to tell—and Dick wondered how long he’d been standing there, waiting for his protégé to notice him.

Seems like he was making all sorts of mistakes today.

“We’re leaving,” Batman said, but his tone was almost ( _almost)_ questioning, and Dick kind of didn’t know how to respond to that. Because it almost sounded like Batman was asking for permission to leave the Cave, and that—to Dick’s knowledge—had never happened before.

So Dick, epitome of confused, just decided to go with the flow. “Sure,” he said easily, making sure to keep his feet light and his shoulders set. He wasn’t really in the mood to settle this thing with Wally when Wally wasn’t even here.

He would hold onto it, Dick decided. He’d talk it out with Wally later, and in the meantime, Bruce didn’t need to know anything just yet. Not until he figured out his own feelings, until he felt out and forgave his own mistakes, making sure that he wouldn’t commit them later.

Batman nodded. “Then let’s go.”

They left, and Dick bottled up his feelings inside.

* * *

Bruce was missing something.

Well, no. Not really. He knew exactly what was going on, but the information hadn’t come from Dick’s mouth, so Bruce was more than reluctant to voice it.

All in all, Dick was a pretty easy-going kid. He laughed when he wanted to laugh, he cried when he wanted to cry, and he got angry, well, not much, so Bruce wasn’t sure if Dick just _didn’t_ get angry very often, or if he hid that anger behind a smile.

It was probably the latter, thinking about it. But Dick was pretty easy to interact with if you knew what you were doing. Which, sometimes, Bruce didn’t. Being a parent was _hard._

Alfred had done his best with Bruce, but the distance between them hadn’t exactly been what Bruce had needed at the time, and so, without an example, Bruce sometimes didn’t know how exactly to get about things like this. Where Dick was keeping a secret from Bruce, but Bruce already knew about it, and yet Dick didn’t _know_ that Bruce knew. Where to go from here?

After several tries, Bruce abandoned the topic and let Dick have his secret. The one where Wally knew about Bruce’s and Dick’s identities. It was probably better that way.

But there was something else, and Bruce had a niggling suspicion that Dick was still bothered by something.

So, after coming home from work, almost a week after the team’s first official mission, Bruce decided to confront him.

“Is Dick home?” Bruce asked as he walked through the door.

Alfred took his coat, hung it up, and then nodded. “He is, sir. In fact, I do believe he is on the phone with someone.”

“With who?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Master Bruce,” Alfred told him, taking his briefcase. “He is upstairs in his bedroom if you wish to see him. If you do, please remind him that dinner will be served soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Bruce said, heading for the stairs. It was only when Bruce reached Dick’s cracked bedroom door that he paused. Dick was murmuring to someone on the phone, and he didn’t sound very happy. Bruce peeked in, frowning when Dick failed to pick up on his presence.

“I’m not exactly thrilled, either,” Dick sighed into the receiver. “No. No. _No._ What’s he going to think when you come and pick me up.” Dick paused, before hissing, “Like hell. Look, I’ll just meet you at that chicken place you like and we can talk there.” Dick stopped again, giving the other person on the line a chance to talk. “Wally, I swear to—”

Bruce knocked on the door, and Dick bolted up right, his hand with his cell phone thrust behind his back, out of Bruce’s line of vision. Bruce raised an eyebrow as he pushed the door open a little more.

“Is that Wally?”

Dick cringed. “If I say yes are you going to yell at me?”

Bruce thought about it. “No. But you’re really only supposed to use your communicator to talk to those friends. Not your cell phone.”

“I know,” Dick said, not quite meeting his eyes, “but Wally’s a civilian right now, and this was the only way to reach him.”

“And why is that?” Bruce asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Dick bit his bottom lip. “He may or may not be ignoring me.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked to the cell phone still partly hidden behind Dick’s back. He may not be great at this, but he might as well take the plunge. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with last week, would it?”

“You mean—”

“—the argument with Wally about who would be team leader,” Bruce finished. “I had Kaldur tell me. I was hoping you two could resolve it by yourselves.”

Dick hunched in on himself, and Bruce felt kind of bad. But his need for information, to be in control of the situation, was ever present, and he hoped Dick wouldn’t mind that he pried into his personal issues without his knowledge.

“I’m trying,” Dick told him, his voice quiet. “I swear, I am. Wally just doesn’t want to talk to me right now.”

Bruce sighed. “I’m not blaming you, and I’m not here to solve your problems for you, but you two need to try to work this out. Do you want me to talk to Barry for you? To see if Wally can be pushed into meeting with you?”

It was a valid offer, one that Bruce would actually go through with if Dick decided that a week with the cold shoulder from Wally was too much to fix on his own, but he hoped that Dick would say no. He wanted Dick to try to work this out on his own.

And to Bruce’s delight, Dick shook his head. “No. I don’t think that would help. I know I’m mad at Wally, but I’m trying to talk things out with him. If he doesn’t want to meet, then that’s his fault, and I don’t think it’d help much to force him into it.”

Bruce nodded. “Okay. Once you get off the phone, make sure to eat dinner. Dinner’s probably on the table by now.”

“I will,” Dick said softly. “Thank you.”

Bruce shot him a small smile. “Any time, kiddo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typos probably exist. Whatever. I'll come back to it.


	4. Schooled (1x05)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost three times longer than every other chapter and I'm kind of exhausted from writing it. It took me so long. But I liked how it turned out, and I think having two weeks helped me out a lot. Instead of weekly, I'm going to try for biweekly. The chapters will be a bit longer, and probably edited better.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for all the kudos and comments! You guys are the best. Enjoy!

Dick looked back and forth between Batman and Superman, trying not to appear as uncomfortable as he felt.

The motorcycle drive to the location where the Amazo parts were being dismantled had been uneventful, and when the team had parked their bikes, the trucks were still being loaded. They could do nothing but wait on standby while Batman and Superman supervised the loading.

Except, Dick could tell that Batman and Superman were both a little on edge.

Of course, that could just be from the mission, though. He didn’t have any proof otherwise, either. So there he stood, staring at his mentor and his mentor’s best friend as he tried to piece together why the tenseness between them seemed so strange to him, especially right before sending off the team for a mission.

“What’s up?” Wally asked, walking up to Dick and nudging him. “You look unusually contemplative.”

Dick hummed, still looking between Batman and Superman. Batman turned his head a miniscule amount towards Dick and scowled. Creepy bat powers, Wally would say and Dick (kind of, sort of) agreed. He could probably feel Dick staring, and had already guessed the exact problem Dick was grappling with. Superman on the other hand didn’t even seem to notice. Batman would probably be rubbing that one in Superman’s face later—you know. If Batman did gloating. Which he didn’t. He did brooding. So maybe no rubbing in face. Maybe just berating Dick for calling attention to the situation.

Which. Right. He’d done that, hadn’t he? Wally was asking what he was doing.

“Rob?” Wally asked, and Dick finally turned towards his best friend—and _yes._ They were best friends still. They’d fought, they’d made up, and now they were good again. Wally raised an eyebrow. “You done spacing out?”

Dick sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. B’s just grumpier than usual.”

Wally started. “That’s _possible?”_

“Of course it’s possible,” Dick said. “He’s human. He’s susceptible to bad days.”

Susceptible. Now that was a strange word. Probably not the time to delve into it, though.

“You figured out what caused it?” Wally asked, his voice quiet and secretive like two of the people standing in this field couldn’t hear everything they were saying. Super-hearing was a thing, and it was kind of annoying sometimes, but very useful for some situations.

Batman shot Dick another look, too, and Dick shuddered. Didn’t have mind reading powers his _ass._ Bruce probably knew exactly what was going through Dick’s head at that very moment.

So, instead of saying anything that could potentially cause him any trouble between Batman, Superman, and Superboy, Dick said, “Nah. Probably just some bad tacos.”

Dick could _feel_ the bewildered stares of both Wally and Superman—really, Clark. Really—but to anybody else, nothing Dick had said would have been out of the ordinary. Or you know, maybe it would if these two idiots didn’t close their mouths.

But after a moment, Wally seemed to get that there was something he couldn’t say out in the open like this. Not with this many ears and Batman standing right there. Wally just let out a small “huh” and left it at that.

Superman, though, Superman was still staring at him. Looking like he really wanted to ask him something, so Dick did the only logical thing he could. He turned back to his team and clapped his hands, a sly grin on his face. He’d get to the bottom of that situation later.

“Who’s ready for a mission?!”

Wally grinned. “Born ready.”

Superboy looked very _not_ interested. Great start.

M’gann smiled, though.

And Kaldur just looked at Dick, a very patient look in his eye as he said, “I just pray that this mission is not as disastrous as the last.”

* * *

Kaldur called it. Or jinxed it. Whatever.

Just. Dick was _not_ a happy camper. He ached all over, and he hadn’t even been stepped on this time. But between jumping off a moving truck and being thrown around by Amazo, Dick was definitely not feeling the aster.

They’d managed to dismantle Amazo again, though. Ivo was gone, but they’d completed the mission objective.

And now, sitting in his dark bedroom at three in the morning, too sore to sleep, Dick’s mind was back to analyzing the tension between Bruce and Clark. From the way Bruce had been acting, it looked like absolutely _nothing_ had been resolved between the two, and if Dick had to guess, he’d have to say it was an argument about what to do with Superboy.

He kind of wanted to weigh in on this, if only because Superboy was his teammate-slash-sorta-friend that he didn’t want to see hurt over this _thing_ that Bruce and Clark were making a big deal of.

Deciding enough was enough, Dick sighed and sat up. He was too wound up, and at this rate, he was never going to get to sleep. He was just lucky it was still summer break, so he wasn’t back to his regular schedule.

Dick crept to Bruce’s room, grinning when he saw the light was still on, even though it was the middle of the night. He knocked softly and peeked into the room.

“Bruce?”

“Dick?” Bruce asked, putting down a file on his bedside table next to the lamp. He looked bewildered. A pretty normal reaction when Dick was supposed to have gone to bed over an hour ago. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Dick shook his head, pushing his way fully into Bruce’s bedroom and crawling onto the giant bed. He plopped down in cross-legged in front of the guy, an easy-going smile plastered across his face.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “It’s three in the morning, Dick.”

“I know what time it is.”

“Then you know you should be asleep.”

“Yes.”

“So why aren’t you?”

Dick shrugged, the smile still sitting on his face like a mask. Bruce could see right through it, he knew, but it made him feel better. More in control at times like these, when he couldn’t back up for a moment or two and take stock of the situation—especially when he didn’t know what the situation was exactly.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dick decided to go with. “Something’s been bothering me.”

“I’ve noticed,” Bruce said. “Care to share?”

Dick hesitated. He wanted to know what this was about, he wanted to contribute and find some happy medium between two of the most important people in his life, but some part of his brain was telling him he wouldn’t exactly be fond of what he was going to hear.

And yet, he still wanted to hear it. He’d start off slow, he decided. Ease his way into the topic and create an exit strategy if anything felt too personal and incriminating for him.

“It’s about you and Clark,” Dick admitted, not looking Bruce in the eyes.

“What about us?”

“Well, you guys aren’t fighting, are you?” Dick asked.

Bruce was silent for a moment, seeming to think about it, which insinuated that there was something to think about. Which didn’t bode well. Dick started to fidget.

“You are, aren’t you?” Dick looked up at Bruce, leaning forward when Bruce didn’t answer fast enough for him. “Look, you guys are friends, and I know friends can fight sometimes, but _please_ tell me you didn’t say something rude to him because I was really looking forward to Thanksgiving with him and Aunt Diana this year and I don’t want it to be all awkward because you guys can’t work out your—”

“Take a breath,” Bruce advised, a touch of amusement in his expression. “And to answer your question, I guess we are fighting to a point, but nothing that would ruin Thanksgiving.”

Dick blinked. “Oh. Okay. So then, what are you fighting about?”

Bruce winced. “Dick, I don’t think—”

“It’s about Superboy, isn’t it?” Bruce’s face told him he’d hit the problem on the nose. Dick sighed, putting his face into his hands. _“Bruce.”_

“Dick, you are not seriously about to lecture me about lecturing Clark, are you?” Bruce asked, sounding completely unimpressed, which. Dick would be too if his child was about to go off on him about something he wouldn’t know completely about. “Because you don’t get to do that, Dick.”

Dick looked up from his hands, a twinge of hurt passing through him, because _what?_ He didn’t get to tell Bruce that he was wrong? Or was this about Clark specifically? Did Bruce not think he knew Clark enough to weigh in on this? Or was it because he was thirteen?

Dick didn’t like any of those options, and a spark of anger igniting in him that probably wasn’t beneficial to any sort of coherent conversation at three in the morning.

“I don’t get to do that,” Dick repeated, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. His face was scrunching up in his anger. “That’s—you don’t get to tell me what I don’t get to do, Bruce.”

Bruce exhaled loudly, closing his eyes. “Dick, that’s not what I—”

“Well that’s what it sounded like,” Dick hissed. “You can’t just tell me that I can’t _do_ something like that and expect—”

“Please listen to me,” Bruce said, his eyes open now and completely calm. Dick shut his mouth. “That’s not what I meant. Just, don’t lecture until you hear all of the details, okay?”

Dick hesitated, his anger fading, but his indignation still holding on. He finally slumped, relenting. “Fine. Tell me what happened.”

“Clark’s been avoiding Superboy,” Bruce said, “and Superboy doesn’t know how to handle it. I asked to speak with Clark about it and told him he needed to step up.”

That sparked something in Dick’s memory. After their mission, during the debriefing, Batman had said something, and Superboy had responded to it.

_“Complications come with the job. Your ability to handle them has impressed the League.”_

_“The_ whole _League?”_

_“Given time, yes. Kryptonians, as you know, have very hard heads.”_

“So Clark didn’t take it very well,” Dick guessed. Could have told Bruce that one. Clark wasn’t the type to take crap from Bruce, and it was one of the reason that their dynamic worked so well. Bruce had this need for control, but Clark was spontaneous, and their differences accented each other well enough that they complemented each other, drove each other to be better.

But they were both stubborn idiots, and when one pushed the other pushed back. How Bruce couldn’t see that was beyond Dick, but sometimes Bruce spent so much time with his eyes squinted, constantly looking for the danger, that he became blind to the things right in front of him.

“No,” Bruce sighed, leaning his head back against the headboard. “I don’t get why Clark won’t take this seriously.”

Dick shrugged. He kind of got it, just a little bit. How angry would _he_ be if suddenly Bruce introduced a new member of the family without even telling Dick what he was planning? If that family member was forced onto him, would Dick be obligated to love them, to care for them, to accept them?

“I don’t think it’s that he’s not taking this seriously,” Dick said slowly, not meeting Bruce’s eyes. “I just think that it’s a lot to accept right now. He’s just having trouble accepting the fact there’s someone he doesn’t know how to trust that wants his attention.”

“That doesn’t excuse the fact that he should be looking after his son,” Bruce said, his voice almost gruff.

Wait _what?_

“ _Woah,”_ Dick said, holding up a hand as wide blue eyes met Bruce’s dark ones. “Hold up. Did you just say _son?”_

“Yes, Superboy needs Clark to step up as his father.”

Dick didn’t know why, but that just sounded so _wrong_ to his ears. He’d thought that after all this time, Bruce would have learned that sometimes being in a paternal role didn’t mean stepping into a role you and the child weren’t prepared for you to play.

After all, hadn’t it been Bruce who had stooped down, laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and told Dick that he would _never_ try and replace the father that Dick had lost? Hadn’t it been Bruce that had looked down at Dick when the adoption papers hadn’t gone through and said that they were still a team?

Hadn’t Bruce said, _“Even if I can’t adopt you, you still mean a lot to me, okay? Your mom and dad will be your mom and dad forever, but from now on, we’ll be partners. Is that alright with you? Will you let me be a part of your team?”_

And Dick had nodded, grinned with tears in his eyes, and took Bruce’s outstretched hand, because that had meant the _world_ to him. To have someone who wouldn’t try to replace his father but still be there for him always? Dick would never forget that.

 _Now_ Bruce was like his second father, and Alfred like a grandfather, just as Pop Haly had been, and Dick would never change that for any reason. He had accepted them and he loved them. They were family. But back then? During those hard months when he’d still wake up every night crying for his falling mother and father, Bruce’s words had been his saving grace.

So why was Bruce trying to force this on Clark? It didn’t make any sense.

“Bruce, you can’t just tell Clark to be a father,” Dick said, his eyebrows furrowing. “I doubt that’s what Clark wants or what Superboy needs.”

“He needs someone to look up to,” Bruce urged.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that Clark all the sudden has to be a dad to a teenager with anger issues,” Dick explained. Maybe he could explain this without throwing his feelings into the mix. After all, this wasn’t about _him_ , was it? “Clark’s not ready for that kind of responsibility, and Superboy really just wants Superman’s attention. It probably doesn’t even have to be paternal.”

Bruce was looking at him, though, his eyes questioning. Bruce could tell that Dick wasn’t saying something and he wanted Dick to tell him. And that was what Robin was for anyways, wasn’t it? To steer Batman back in the right direction should anything lead him astray?

“Look, Bruce, you’re looking at this from _your_ perspective,” Dick continued. He needed Bruce to get this, even if his feelings _were_ thrown into this. “You see a kid with anger issues in need of attention from one person, and then you’re automatically pushing the responsibility of a parent onto that one person when they’re not ready and willing. Think of how not ready you were four years ago, and you _wanted_ to adopt me.”

Bruce’s eyes softened, obviously remembering what they had gone through to get those papers in, only to have them spat right back in their faces.

“Dick, you know if I could have adopted you, I would, right?” Bruce asked. “And whenever you’re willing to try again—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dick interrupted. “It’s just, even when you were trying to adopt me, you weren’t ready to be a parent, and I didn’t want you to be. Superboy needs a friend in Superman, not someone who will boss him around and play house with him. Just a friend. _That’s_ the direction you need to push Clark in, and while it’s probably not going to be easy, it’ll probably be easi _er_.”

Bruce sighed, reaching out for him. Dick crawled over to his waiting arms without hesitation, slipping under the blankets and snuggling up against his side.

“When did you get so smart, huh?” Bruce asked.

Dick rolled his eyes. “I’ve always been smart, though some people like to add _ass_ after it.”

“Language,” Bruce warned, but he was chuckling, his laugh chest deep and warm. “Don’t let Alfred hear you say anything like that.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you two know that I’ve heard worse,” Dick said, rolling his eyes. “I mean, I’ve been with you on patrol and you’ve _said_ worse.”

“Alfred doesn’t know that.”

“Oh yes he does. The radio was on.”

“Dammit.”

“Language,” Dick parroted, his grin practically blinding.

It was Bruce’s turn to roll his eyes. “Are you going back to your room or staying here?”

“Staying here.”

“Then go to sleep, kiddo.”

And now maybe he could, Dick thought as he settled into Bruce’s big bed and Bruce turned off his bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. His conundrum had been resolved, his bruises didn’t seem to ache as much now that he was finally sleepy, and he counted tonight as a win.

He’d gotten angry, sure, but in the end, he’d made Bruce look at his problem another way in order to keep his important people together. Definitely feeling the aster.

“Night Bruce.”

“Goodnight, Dick.”


	5. Infiltrators (1x06)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got this chapter fit into something that I was actually able to post. It took quite a few revisions since all I knew was that I wanted to do something with the "security override RG4." This was the result. Enjoy!

_“I’m sorry to bother you this late, Mr. Wayne,”_ the voice on the other end of the line said, _“but I’m afraid this just can’t wait.”_

“I’m understand,” Bruce said, biting back a sigh. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Officer.”

 _“Thank you, sir,”_ the Star City police officer murmured. _“I’ll be waiting in front of the building when you arrive.”_

“Of course. Goodbye for now, then.” Bruce hung up.

Bruce slid his arms through the sleeves of his jacket as he walked to the garage, Alfred just a step behind him. He’d just been about to go out for a solo patrol when he’d gotten the call, and it about ruined his plans for a short night and then a good night sleep.

Well, at least he’d have a legitimate excuse not to go into work on time tomorrow.

“Has the team called?” Bruce asked.

“Not that I know of,” Alfred answered. His eyes sharpened as they stopped in front of the car. “The call, sir? Does it have to do with Master Dick’s team?”

“Officer Romero said that it was a break in,” Bruce answered, opening the car door, hesitating to climb in. “From the information I received, Robin and Superboy were both involved, so this should be interesting if nothing else.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “I see. I shall await your return then, Master Bruce.”

* * *

 “Who is Bruce Wayne?”

Dick almost choked. He turned to his teammate, who looked really, _really_ confused as he watched the police officers and security guards run around like chickens with their heads cut off. “You don’t know?”

Superboy shrugged. “Should I?”

Okay, stupid question. Superboy wasn’t even six months old yet, of course he didn’t know who Bruce Wayne was or why the officials were all doing their best to accommodate Gotham’s richest citizen after calling him out to Star City at one in the morning.

Dick was probably going to get his ass kicked by said richest citizen the moment he showed, too. He was so stupid. He’d overridden the voice activated security, probably compromising his identity—and Bruce’s, too—in an attempt to save their identities from being compromised.

Because _hello?_ If the Fog had gotten into the main frame, they probably could have hacked into the Batcave, and maybe even the Watchtower if they dug hard enough. Lots of _probably_ ’s there, but his point still stood. He’d done something stupid, and now he was hoping Bruce could fix the mess he created before it turned into, well, a bigger mess.

Man, he was _so_ grounded.

“Robin?” Superboy asked, looking over to him. He looked a little worried. “Your heartbeat just sped up. Are you okay? Do you want me to radio Batman?”

Dick shook his head. Bruce wouldn’t be able to respond. He should already be here by now, seeing as they’d been sitting here for a while. “Batman’s busy,” he breathed. “We’re on our own for this one. Maybe Mr. Wayne will be able to help us out a bit, though.”

Superboy still looked confused. “Is this guy like a general or something?”

“Uh, well.” Dick tried to come up with an appropriate answer, but his mind was kind of occupied with the disturbing image of Bruce Wayne dressed up in military garb, commanding an army of soldiers, because that was so _close_ to what Batman was, commanding the League and the Team, all following his orders, and it turned Dick’s stomach in a way he didn’t like.

Luckily, one of the security guards—the one who had called for the unauthorized entry, actually—overheard them.

“You don’t know who Bruce Wayne is, kid?”

Superboy scowled. “I have no idea who this guy is.”

“He’s a business tycoon,” the security guard told him, completely unimpressed by Superboy’s scowl. “He practically runs all o’ Gotham, and he’s head of several corporations an’ charities throughout the country. A powerful man.”

“Bit of a playboy, though,” another guard piped up.

The first guard waved him off. “That was years ago. After he adopted that Grayson kid, he’s been pretty quiet. Tryin’ to prove he’s a good guardian an’ all that, I suppose.”

True. Bruce had a different sort of image now that Dick was living with him. He kept up the “Brucie” act at parties, but he never brought any girls home, and he never did anything but let them hang off his arms. The public looked at him a bit different now.

Superboy looked unmoved. “So he’s rich?”

The second guard snorted. “Probably one of the richest guys in the world.”

Bruce took that moment walk in. Dick felt ton between hugging the hell out of him and running away before he could get yelled at. But they were in public. It was irrational since Dick was Robin and Bruce was _not_ Batman. Associating with Bruce beyond the _I know who you are because I patrol the city you’re rick in_ probably wouldn’t be good for their maybe already compromised identities.

Dick stayed where he was.

Bruce looked irritated, too. Great. Dick would be real surprised if he wasn’t grounded for life after this.

“Mr. Wayne,” a police officer said, extending a hand for Bruce to shake. He looked surprised. You got here earlier than I expected. I’m sorry I wasn’t waiting in front of the building like I said.”

Bruce took the hand. “It’s fine. I have a fast car.”

“Right,” the officer said, looking even more unsure as they dropped the handshake. “Well, thank you for coming all this way on such short notice.”

Bruce waved him off. “It’s my facility. Was anybody injured?”

The officer shook his head. “Nothing besides a few cuts from the glass exploding.”

“I see,” Bruce said, his eyes roving over the room, his gaze catching on Robin a moment longer than he probably should have. Dick was lucky he knew how to keep up a poker face, otherwise he’d probably be cringing. “Would you mind telling me the, ah, details? I’m afraid your explanation over the phone was a little lacking, Officer Romero.”

Romero grimaced. “Please follow me, Mr. Wayne.”

The two walked over to the corner Robin and Superboy occupied while trying to stay out of the way of the officials. The only reason they were even still here was because that security guard had caught up to Dick after he’d downloaded the virus into the Fog. The guy had called the police, and once Conner had come into the building to find Robin, had asked them to stay for the police to question them.

Robin kind of already felt guilty about the security override thing, so he’d left the executive decision to Kaldur, who hadn’t done much beside give them a disappointed sigh and tell them to do what they could to fix the situation.

Which meant staying for the police.

“Robin. Superboy,” Romero said, looking at each of the kids in turn. He looked hesitant, and Dick didn’t really blame him. Star City didn’t have many metas, and they _were_ kids. The GCPD officers _hated_ working with Robin since he was so young, and all they had was crazy psychopaths. “Please tell Mr. Wayne what you told me.”

Dick forced a smile he definitely didn’t feel. “Sure.” He turned to Bruce. “Sorry about the unauthorized entry, Mr. Wayne, but we were tracking down a few baddies trying to get to your technology. In order to stop them from hacking in and doing the same thing to this building that they did to S.T.A.R. Labs, I had to get to the main frame.”

Superboy grunted, but didn’t add to Dick’s explanation,

“It sounds like the kid, uh, Robin, had good intentions,” Romero started, and Dick had to force himself not to visibly deflate, “but there is video footage of Robin using a security override, and the security guards all say that those overrides are voice-activated. Did you know he had access to those?”

Bruce stared at Robin for a minute before he turned to the officer, his smile only noticeably strained to Dick, who lived with the man. “I did, actually,” Bruce said. Dick tried to keep his breathing even. “As you know, I live in Gotham. After one too many break ins, I decided to give both Batman and Robin access to the overrides as a precaution.”

Romero looked uncertain again. “Um,” he stammered. “I see. Sorry, but I still have to ask if you would still like to press charges?”

Superboy tensed, and Dick elbowed him in the side, only remembering _after_ his elbow started throbbing that the guy was made of like, steel or something. Bruce wouldn’t press charges, but he’d kick both of their butts later if they made this any worse than it already was.

“No,” Bruce said, completely as expected. His smile looked a bit looser at the edges. A bit more relaxed. _Good._ “I don’t think that will be necessary, Officer. No one is hurt, and as far as I know, nothing’s been stolen. It sounds like these two were just trying to help.”

Romero nodded. “Alright, then. Thank you for coming and clearing this up, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce shook the man’s hand again, his eyes settling on Dick for a moment more before turning away. “Anytime, Officer Romero. Please let me know if something like this happens again.”

Yeah, Dick was so dead.

* * *

 “Well,” Bruce said as soon as Dick made it back to the manor after the debrief. He’d put the car on autopilot back to Gotham and made for the nearest Zeta after changing into his suit. “That was something. I made sure to alter the videos so that you’re saying the new codes I’ve created for Batman and Robin.”

Dick looked a little confused and a lot nervous as he peeled off his mask and approached the Batcomputer. “What, uh, did you change it to?”

“R04,” Bruce said. “I’ve also changed your civilian code to RG5.”

Dick huffed a small laugh. “Wow. Big difference.”

“I think it’s enough.” Bruce turned the chair around so that he could properly face Dick, who was fidgeting next to him. He still looked ready for the biggest fight of his life, and Bruce’s eyebrows knit in confusion as he watched the teenager. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Dick said shortly. “Is that it, or…?”

Bruce sighed. “What is it?”

Dick wouldn’t look at him, confirming his suspicions. “What is what?”

“Something’s bothering you.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Dick, don’t lie to me.”

Dick frowned, his gaze staying on the floor and his arms crossing defensively over his chest. “Fine. Something’s bothering me, but I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

Bruce blinked. The mission had more or less been a success, besides the loss of Cheshire, but Dick hadn’t even been involved with the fight with Cheshire. He’d been with Superboy, neutralizing the Fog. The worst Dick had done was almost reveal himself with those…oh.

Dick’s defensive posture made sense, now.

Bruce grimaced. “This is about the codes,” Bruce guessed. “You think I’m angry.”

Dick looked a little sick. “You mean you aren’t?”

He was a little, if he was being honest with himself. He’d had to come up with some on the spot explanation back in Star City, the threat of their identities being revealed hanging over his head, and Dick hadn’t looked anything but blank as he watched Bruce back them from out of the corner.

So yes, Bruce was a little irritated, but if it saved the facility from being hacked into, Bruce could admit that Dick had made the right choice in that situation.

“I was,” Bruce said, “but it was an emergency.”

“I could have compromised both of our identities.”

“You didn’t.”

“Only because of you,” Dick said, finally— _finally_ —looking at him. “If you hadn’t been there, they could have looked up the access codes, and it doesn’t take a genius to read _voice-activated_ and understand that thirteen-year-old Robin using thirteen-year-old Richard Grayson’s codes isn’t a coincidence.”

“I got us out of it,” Bruce said, hoping to end the discussion.

Dick shook his head, though. “I keep thinking about all the ways that I could have gotten in without using the security override. I mean, I could have shot a line at the far wall and had it reel me in before the gate closed. I did the math. I totally would have made it. Or, or maybe—”

“That’s hindsight, Dick,” Bruce said, a little sharper than he probably should have, because Dick’s words died on his lips. Bruce made himself relax, squeezing Dick’s shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring. “For now, let’s go see if Alfred has any cookies left from this afternoon, and then we can talk about contingency plans in case this sort of thing happens again.”

Dick’s expression was pinched. “Can’t I draw up the contingency plans myself?”

Bruce stared at him. “By yourself?”

And no cookies? Man, Alfred was going to be pissed. And probably at him.

“Yeah,” Dick said, his stance a little firmer. “I’ll show them to you later, but I want to do them myself first.”

Bruce sighed, wondering if he was going to regret this. “Fine. But tomorrow, alright? It’s late, and you have training in the morning.”

Dick nodded, and ran over to the changing room, leaving Bruce to collapse back into his chair. He ran a hand down his face. He was so, _so_ bad at this. He didn’t know why Dick was acting the way he was, but he did know that he needed to get to the bottom of it.

Maybe, he thought as he pulled up a bit of research on parenting, he’d call Jim in the morning, and if that didn’t glean any new information or tips, then he’d give in and call Dinah. Something was bothering his son, something more than just the codes, and Bruce was going to get to the bottom of it, if it was the last thing he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be quite a bit longer, since I've already got about 1500 words written and I'm nowhere near done. I'm going to try to get it finished in a week and a half but no promises.


	6. Denial (1x07)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so just some warnings for this chapter. Robin wasn't in this episode, so I sort of created a segue into the next chapter's issues (which was hinted at last chapter, too). There are some graphic-ish descriptions, and it's a lot more action than previous chapters.
> 
> It's also very long. Upwards of 2k, and I want to apologize how long it's taken me to get this written.

_“Where are you?”_

“I don’t know.”

_“Where’s the Joker?”_

“I don’t know.”

_“Are you hurt?”_

“I think so.”

_“Define ‘I think so.’”_

“I can’t.”

_“Well, Robin, is there anything you_ can _tell me?”_

“I can tell you I’ve been handcuffed and locked up in the box a psychopath shoved me into for almost three hours,” Dick snapped, his jaw twitching in the darkness, “and not to mention, I’m pretty sure I’m sitting in a puddle of blood that I’m not positive is mine. That enough for you?”

There was silence on the other end of the comms, and Dick waited it out. He was snappish, he knew, and he shouldn’t be, not when Batman was just trying to figure out the extent of the situation. But Dick was hurting, both his body and his pride, and he hated that Batman had to come bail him out— _again—_ because Dick was stuck in this stupid chest.

This whole situation was stupid.

It had started with a patrol. It had been forever since Robin and Batman had patrolled together—okay, so it had been like four days, but between Bruce’s work and Dick’s time with the Team, sometimes it felt like Dick didn’t interact with Batman much anymore outside of the Cave, and Batman had Justice League duties on top of _that_ , so they missed each other a lot. There were more solo patrols in the last two months than there had been in the last two _years._

(Which was saying something, because Dick had been grounded—benched—more than a few times in the past couple years for doing stupid crap.)

Also, Wally had brought up a good point. If Dick wasn’t around Batman enough, would the Big Bad Bat start to seem a little scary to him? It hadn’t happened yet, but Wally’s working theory was that Dick was just acclimatized. Dick was leaning more towards the _I know it’s just Bruce under that stupid suit_ theory.

So yeah. Patrol. Together. It was really supposed to be a quiet night, too.

Until about five minutes into the patrol when the Bat Signal had lit up and the GCPD had given them the great news.

The Joker had broken out of Arkham.

Dick and Bruce splitting up hadn’t been a part of the plan, but Dick had been desperate to prove himself. A stupid, stupid move. Batman had—cautiously—allowed it, and Dick was off under the condition that he wouldn’t engage the Joker without calling in support.

Somehow, Dick had kept the condition. The Joker engaged _him._

Dick barely had time to blink before the psycho was up in his face, knocking him out almost instantly. So stupid. He never should have left Bruce, and he hated that he needed Batman as his safety still. After _four years._ It frustrated him to no end.

So yeah. He was a little snappish, and he regretted snapping at the only person who could come get him out of this, but he didn’t know how to calm down. Not until he had space to breathe and time to think.

Because right now? He was locked up in a box, sitting in a pool of blood, and right now the clown could be standing on top of the box and Dick wouldn’t know the difference.

“You’re handcuffed?” Batman asked, his quiet growling voice startling Dick out of his thoughts. “What happened to your lock picks?”

“He took my gloves, boots, and belt while I was unconscious.”

“Agent A just tracked the signal on your comm. I’ll be there in thirty.”

Dick swallowed, cold fear washing over him in a rush. “What happens if this is a trap?”

“Then it’s a trap.” There was another pause, but this one was significantly shorter. When Batman spoke again, the growl was all but dropped, and some of the tension in Dick’s shoulders was released. “I’m not going to just leave you there.”

“I know,” Dick said, just as soft. “Just—be careful?”

“Batman out.”

Yeah, that was stupid, too. Couldn’t Bruce, just once in his stupid life, say that he would at least _try?_ Dick would feel ten times better.

* * *

 Dick sat there for a long time. Long enough that he’d lost track of time. So he had no idea how long he’d been in that box, which sucked. Batman was more than likely finishing the clown’s goons before making for Robin’s location, but even if he didn’t make it in half an hour, Dick probably wouldn’t know.

Shuffling from outside caught his attention, and Dick shook himself back to reality, straining his ears for any other sign of someone outside the box. If he could somehow figure out who was out there, maybe he could get their attention.

Or maybe it was a criminal. Dick still didn’t know where the Joker had run off to, and he really didn’t want to call attention to himself in the case that the clown _was_ there. Who knew what would happen if he did.

The box shook violently, and Dick held his breath as he slammed between the walls, taking the abuse to the best of his handcuffed ability. The shaking stopped after a moment and Dick let the breath out. Then, the chest lid swung open, a grinning face looking down at him, and Dick felt his stomach sink.

This was not going to be pretty.

* * *

 Trap. It wasn’t a trap. It was a freaking exhibition, and Robin was the one on display.

The Joker chuckled maniacally. “How’s it feeling, Birdboy?” he asked, trailing a finger down his nose, only to tap the end of it. “You comfortable?”

“Not particularly,” Dick told him, teeth gritted.

“Too bad,” the Joker hissed, still grinning, and Dick’s heart rate picked up without his express permission. “Once Batsy gets here we can get you a chair or something, but until then, you’ll have to tough it out. You can do that, right?”

Dick was hanging by his wrists—still handcuffed—his toes just barely scuffing the floor as he dangled. The position put a lot of strain on his chest, just barely being able to puff out a breath and draw it back in. He was still bleeding, too, though that had slowed somewhat significantly. He still wasn’t sure exactly where he was bleeding from, but his left leg was suspiciously burning, so that would be his first guess.

He was in some kind of warehouse, and had been probably since the Joker had stuffed him into the chest. Good to know that Batman was probably still on his way to Robin’s location so Dick could get saved again like a damsel in distress.

The Joker’s grin faltered at Dick’s silence. “What happened to the chatty bird from last time? He was more fun. Are you a new Birdy? Is this your first experience with torture—?”

The clown cut off at the voices from further in the warehouse, looking confused, and even Dick was feeling sorta out of the loop—because _two_ voices? Batman wasn’t going to sneak in and attack from the shadows. Taking down the Joker and saving Robin before either knew what had hit them?

But the voices grew closer, and Dick was sure neither of them were Bruce’s signature growl. In fact, one of the distinctly sounded like a teenager’s voice.

The Joker’s grin was back. “I think we have _guests,”_ he told Dick. “Maybe they’ll stay to watch torture time? You think we should ask them?”

“No,” Dick breathed, but the Joker paid him no attention. “No, no, _no._ Damn it, don’t touch them!” he snarled, even as the Joker made to step towards the people who were probably just kids being dumb. He couldn’t let the Joker hurt people, so he did the only thing he could think of.

Gathering up the strength, he swung back and forth on his hands, ignoring the grinding in his chest, ignoring the pain, and just as the Joker took a step away from him, he kicked out with his feet, causing the clown to stumble forward. After the kick, he let himself drop, spent.

He panted for breath, even as the Joker stalked towards him, the teenagers forgotten—and they were dumb kids, Dick could see over the Joker’s. Barely older than Wally, maybe, and they froze at the sight before them only a minute before they were sprinting back the way they came. Good. They didn’t need to see what came next.

Nobody did.

“You see,” the Joker said, his sweet tone belying his completely murderous expression, “I don’t think you’re a new Robin at all. I think you’re the exact same one I carved into last time. Why don’t we repeat that experience? I’ve been working on some more designs.”

With that, Joker twirled out his knife, and Dick swore his heart stopped a moment, because he _did_ remember the last time the Joker had gotten him, and Dick had been on bed rest for the next three weeks, barely able to even sit up without crying out in pain. But he’d known the consequences of turning the Joker’s attention back on him, and he was prepared for it.

He kept his eyes resolutely open as the Joker pressed the tip of the knife to the Kevlar, holding his breath as the knife slit through the armor like butter, getting halfway down his torso and leaving a line of red behind. Dick refused to cry out. He could get through this.

The Joker stopped suddenly, the tip of his knife still pressed to Dick’s skin, and that’s when Dick heard it. Police sirens, outside the warehouse. A good sign, but where was Batman.

As soon as the thought entered his head, the Bat dropped down silently behind the Joker and stabbed a syringe into the man’s neck. Easier than normal, Dick would have said, if the Joker hadn’t turned around and swung the knife at Batman, disregarding the needle still in him.

“Batsy,” the Joker greeted almost delightfully. “I expected you _ages_ ago. You were missing all of our fun!”

Batman said nothing as he dodged the swipes, and the Joker growled at the lack of attention. The knife was dodge expertly a few more times, the Joker getting frustrated, and that’s when Batman found his opening. Just after the knife swung down for his cowl, the Joker stumbled forward slightly, and Batman stepped in, grabbed the Joker’s arm, twisted it. The Joker involuntarily dropped his knife, and Batman wasted no time knocking him out.

With the Joker out of the way, Batman stepped over him and made his way to Dick, reaching u and picking the locks of the handcuffs.

“Can you walk?” Batman asked.

“Yes,” Dick said, keeping his expression blank and his voice even as Batman kept him on his feet. Outside, he wasn’t that hurt. Sure, his leg hurt, his chest was still sore from the position he’d been hanging in, and the cut was stinging slightly, but other than that, he was pretty okay, all things considering, if a bit wobbly.

The inside, though. Man, he needed some time to figure it out before he said _anything_ more to Batman, because there was a storm raging, and he didn’t like how resentful he was feeling for Batman _saving_ him.

Batman stared at him a moment before he nodded. “Then let’s go.”

* * *

 “Dick,” Bruce said the moment the Batmobile rolled to a stop, and Dick pressed his lips together in order to stop the snapped _“what?”_ because he really wasn’t ready to start a fight with Bruce. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Dick said somewhat calmly. He pushed himself out of the car in order to get out of the rest of this conversation, though—because he knew Bruce knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful about this situation. The car ride had been almost completely silent, with only Bruce doing the occasional talking to tell him things like,

_“The Joker’s managed to get his hands on knives sharp enough to pierce Kevlar. We’re going to have to check this out”_ and _“Alfred made some hot chocolate, and after we check you over you can have as much as you want.”_

Bruce had been grasping at straws, a little off balance at Dick’s curtness. That much was more than obvious, and on some level, Dick felt a little guilty, but on another, it was much better than the alternative, because Dick was not ready to be angry at Bruce for something that wasn’t even the man’s fault.

“Sit on the table,” Bruce told him, cowl down now, and Dick complied, peeling off his cape and tunic, and then propping his left leg up in front of him while his right swung off the edge. Bruce came back rather quickly, starting with his leg.

It had stopped bleeding, the cut on his chest, as well, and Dick took this as a good sign that he probably wasn’t going to die.

Bruce was meticulous but efficient, and Dick’s leg was bandaged in just a few minutes. The cut on his chest only needed to be cleaned, and Bruce put some of the healing salve Alfred had made just a few weeks ago on it.

“Let’s not bandage it for now,” Bruce said, his voice soft to match the quietness in the Cave. “It’s shallow, and I don’t want to restrict your ribs more than I have to.”

Dick nodded but didn’t say anything.

Bruce hesitated, staring at his face. “Dick?” he asked. When Dick still didn’t do anything but look at him, Bruce wrapped careful arms around the boy and Dick couldn’t help but lean into the hug, his eyes feeling suspiciously wet. He tried to blink back the tears, but they came anyways, and his next breath hitched in his throat.

The next thing he knew, he was crying in Bruce’s embrace.

“Hey,” Bruce said, his voice gentle. “You’re home now. You’re safe.”

Dick just shook his head and cried. He wasn’t sure whether or not he was crying because of his pent-up frustration or because he was just locked up in a chest for hours before being strung up by his hands and left with the Joker, but Dick wasn’t sure it mattered at this point.

Either way, Bruce was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who is reading this, for comments, kudos, and bookmarks! You are all awesome! Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Check out my tumblr for updates for this story.


	7. Downtime (1x08)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I've been waiting to write since I started this series (well, this one and Performance), but I'm super happy that it's finished and ready to share with you. Thanks for all of the continued support!

It was only after they were both tired and worn that they stopped playing basketball, and Dick seemed to be flying. It had felt like so long to even Bruce since they’d done something other than be Batman and Robin, and they were sort of still on pins and needles from Dick’s time with the Joker.

“Here you are, sirs,” Alfred said, offering the two on the ground of the basketball court their water bottles. Dick took his with a smile at Alfred, and Bruce grabbed his with just a nod. With that, Alfred left them. The butler had a crazy sense of when Bruce needed to speak to Dick alone, that was for sure.

“Dick?”

“Hm?”

“I think we need to talk,” Bruce admitted.

Dick’s smile fell a bit, and Bruce hated to do that to him, but it was necessary. Bruce had given Dick his space. Almost a week of it, and it seemed to have done no good. After a day, Robin had been ready to go out in the field again, and then there had been the mission thwarting Ra’s Al Ghul a couple of days ago, and then the disaster with Clayface last night, and things had just seemed to get worse.

They both needed to figure this out before Dick started putting holes in people, not walls.

“What about?” Dick asked, but he wasn’t looking at Bruce anymore.

“You’re upset,” Bruce told him. “Why?”

Dick shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s just been a lot going on.”

“There’s always a lot going on.”

“So I’m not allowed to be mad now?” Dick bristled, mood turning from gloomy to angry in a single moment, and Bruce was honestly taken aback. Dick hardly ever showed his angry side, and Bruce was starting to see it more and more of the past few weeks. “You just want me to be happy all the time? Newsflash, Bruce, that’s impossible!”

“I’m not telling you to not feel emotions, Dick,” Bruce cut in. Dick just glared at him, and Bruce couldn’t help but sigh. “I just want to know _why._ ”

He wanted to know what he could do to help, was something he didn’t say, but hoped was implied anyways. Probably not since Dick didn’t seem like he was in the mood to hear the subtle implications in Bruce’s words.

Dick didn’t answer, glaring at the ground in front of him.

“Dick, please,” Bruce said. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Wrong thing to say.

Dick chucked his water bottle on the ground and pushed himself to his feet, his fists clenched, his jaw tight. “That’s exactly the problem!” Dick yelled at him, and Bruce could only blink at him. “You’re always _helping_ me. I can never do anything right, and you always have to come swooping in to save me!”

“Dick, I—”

“I thought I was finally starting to get somewhere when we infiltrated Cadmus and broke Superboy out!” Dick told him, gesturing wildly, agitated enough to start pacing. “But I’m not ready to be leader, I’m not good enough to stop Superboy from going on a rampage and going off

 on his own, I’m not good enough to finish a mission without almost compromising our identities, I’m not good enough to take on the Joker without needing help from you, and apparently I’m not good enough to be included in Team Leader discussions!”

Bruce was floored, and the two stared at each other for a few moments, Dick panting and deflating with each silent second that passed, before Bruce quietly asked, “You really feel like that?”

“Yes,” Dick croaked, dropping back to the ground in front of Bruce, and he looked so small hunched in on himself like that. “No. Maybe? I don’t know, Bruce. I just—I feel kind of messed up, and I don’t know why.”

Bruce sighed again. “Dick, you’re amazing. You’re doing all of these amazing things without super powers. Don’t forget that.”

“But—”

“Do you remember what I told you when you first started on this team?”

Dick ducked his head. “Uh, remind me one more time?”

“I told you that your team is inexperienced, and that you’ll get better,” Bruce said. “Forgive yourself, but don’t forget. Learn from your mistakes.”

“This isn’t the Team, though!” Dick yelled, dropping his face into his hands, so that his next words were slightly muffled. “We’re Batman and Robin, Bruce. We’re supposed to be the best, and I keep screwing up.” Dick looked up again, and his eyes were screwed up, and his next words pierced straight to Bruce’s heart. “You had to save me from the Joker, and it just proves that I’m not good enough! _You should have just left me back at the juvenile hall!”_

Bruce grabbed Dick’s wrist and _pulled_ , dragging Dick into an embrace, because he couldn’t _believe_ Dick had just said that. His heart beat a thousand miles a minute, and Bruce could hardly breathe at the images that came unbidden to him as he wrapped his arms around his son.

Dick, orphaned just days before, beat up by the older kids in the detention center, and Bruce had felt righteous anger because he couldn’t _believe_ they had put an _innocent eight-year-old boy_ with _sixteen-year-old thugs_. He’d been half those kids’ age! It was horrible, and Dick had had bruises _everywhere._

Bruce had already known that he couldn’t leave well enough when he’d seen Dick’s parents fall at the circus, when he’d heard the anguished cries of a little boy watching as his whole world crashed and burned, and then he’d had to endure the hell of juvie just because he was from the _circus?_

Bruce would never forget the first actual smile the boy had ever given him, and he couldn’t help the fear overtaking him now, because Dick shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about the place. It was a part of Dick’s past, and Bruce had promised him that he would _never_ have to go back.

 _“Dick,”_ Bruce breathed. Dick was didn’t answer, breathing heavily into Bruce’s shoulder. “Never again. I told you that you would never have to go back there again, and I _meant it_ , Dick. I don’t care whether you can fight crime or not, you have to know that it’s enough just for you to be you.”

Dick still didn’t speak, just sniffled into Bruce’s shirt, and Bruce could do nothing but hold his son, his child, and pray that whatever this was, whatever was going through Dick’s head, Bruce would be enough to convince him otherwise.

“Dick?” Bruce asked. “Please, Dick. Talk to me.”

“Sorry,” Dick whispered. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean that. I’m just, just so frustrated. I don’t want to be some burden that you have to keep saving over and over again. I want to be better.”

“You’ll get better,” Bruce promised. “But you have to remember that I have a lot more experience with all of this. You may be the most experienced on your team, but there’s always more for me to teach you.”

“Bruce,” Dick said, his voice still barely more than a breath, “Bruce, I hate feeling like this.”

Bruce clutched him closer. Time to try a different tactic. “Why did you want to do this, Dick? Why did you become Robin?”

“To catch my parents’ killer.”

“Afterwards,” Bruce urged. “We caught Zucco, but why did you stay Robin?”

Bruce felt Dick swallow, and it was silent for a few precious seconds. Bruce took in the night air, their surroundings, and he committed this moment to memory. Dick was in his arms, he wasn’t in the juvenile detention center. Dick was sad, angry, frustrated, and Bruce knew that after this he would go to hell and back to keep Dick from feeling this way again.

“To help people,” Dick said. “I wanted to help people.”

“I help you,” Bruce told him, “and you help me. We help each other, and then we help Gotham. Sometimes the world. Right?”

“Right.”

“So I saved you from the Joker, and I came up with a cover story for you. Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”

“Of course!” Dick exclaimed, sounding affronted that Bruce would ever think otherwise, and Bruce couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his face. “But you don’t _need_ me to.”

“Maybe,” Bruce said, his smile falling. “Or maybe I do. You helped me with Clark and Superboy, gave me advice. Saved me from losing a close friend because I was forcing him to accept something he doesn’t want to. You made me smile again. You saved this house, turned it into a home, Dick. You’ve done so much for me.”

“But that’s not….”

“Not what?” Bruce asked, pulling back a bit so he could look at Dick’s face. “Not saving me? Not good enough? Because it’s not as Robin?”

Dick didn’t answer, and he stared at Bruce’s chest, so Bruce cradled a hand to Dick’s head and brought him closer again.

“Dick,” Bruce said. “You are amazing. Never doubt that. Experience will come with time. Remember when you first started out? Even after months of training, you still weren’t very good, but you got better. You’ve gone through a lot to get where you are, and just because something’s changed, just because you have a team now, it doesn’t absolve you of all of your previous experiences.”

Bruce closed his eyes, because Dick was still crying, and he probably really needed to hear this next thing, even if it physically pained Bruce to even bring it up, the memories of it still haunting Bruce’s dreams at night.

“And remember Two-Face?” Bruce asked, and Dick shivered. “Afterwards was a hard time for you. It took almost two weeks for you to be able to look at the Robin costume without crying, and that was okay.”

“I thought I was a burden,” Dick admitted. “I didn’t think you were going to let me out as Robin again because I had messed up so bad. And when you tried to fire me—”

“I made a mistake,” Bruce told him. “I told you that. I could never try and take Robin from you. It’s a part of you. But I was scared that I was going to lose you. I almost quit myself, did you know that?”

“Why?”

“I wondered what would happen to you if _I_ was the one on the edge of death. This is a dangerous job, but I knew I could never stop being Batman, and I couldn’t force you to stop being Robin. We both need it too much. We need to help people.”

“Yeah,” Dick said. “I guess we do.”

Bruce let out a shaky breath. His throat was getting sore from talking so much. “It’s okay that you’re hurting right now, but you weren’t a burden then, and you’re not a burden now. You’re Robin, and Batman will always need his Robin, okay?”

“Okay,” Dick said, crying again. “Okay, Bruce.”

They sat there for a long time, and Bruce didn’t mind in the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you follow me on tumblr, you've probably already seen this, but I do want to say this here, too, at least since it's important. A few things about these last few chapters (It's a little long, but bare with me; if you want to read the whole thing it is on tumblr):
> 
> In episode 8, Dick has that moment of "jealousy" where he doesn't like Batman's attention on Aqualad, and all I could think of was "why?" I believe that this stems from Dick's desperation to prove himself, not actual jealousy, which I couldn't quite wrap my head around. One thing he does, from the very first episode, is try to prove himself to Batman, to the Justice League, making decisions like investigating Cadmus, taking down Mr. Twister without telling the team, and trying to be leader.
> 
> Dick's the youngest, and he's Batman's partner on top of it. He's got a lot to live up to, at least that's what he thinks. You start to see the mentality change throughout S1, but as of where this story is right now, one of Dick's worst fears is failing, of not being good enough, and it shows. He feels invalidated by Batman's exclusion of him when Batman wanted to talk to Aqualad, even if it has nothing to do with him. And I felt like the show didn't show it enough, so that's what's up with these last couple chapters.
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


	8. Bereft (1x09)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cats it's been over four months since I've updated this I'm so sorry. Thanks to chimaerakitten for beta reading for me. This one was tough for me.

Dick looked up from his laptop at the sound of the door and grimaced. Bruce was home, and he had this feeling that he was forgetting something important.

He had been trying to pinpoint the feeling all day—ever since he’d gotten back from the mission in Bialya—and he wasn’t keen on asking Bruce, as stressed as he was about something happening with a Justice League mission  _ and _ Wayne Enterprises.

So he bore with the headache, sitting on the couch doing research for this and that, checking on old case files, going through the Team’s and the Justice League’s databases, all in order to see if the thing just on the tip of his tongue had something to do with their nightlife.

It wasn’t looking like it, to say the least, and Dick was starting to get discouraged.

“Dick?” Bruce said from the door of the living room. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he looked—well, he looked confused. Dick’s stomach sunk, and he closed the lid of his laptop, hoping that there wasn’t some big gala today that he hadn’t forgotten. “Why aren’t you in your uniform?”

“My…uniform,” Dick said, trying those words out. They felt weird in his mouth, and he couldn’t remember which uniform Bruce was talking about or why he would need it. “Uh, are we talking capes or school?”

“School,” Bruce said, walking over and crouching down in front of where Dick was curled up on the couch. He put a hand on Dick’s forehead. “You’re not sick, are you?”

Dick swatted the hand away. “I’m fine. I just forgot.”

“Forgot to get dressed?” Bruce looked almost amused, though there was some underlying concern there, too. And the last thing that Bruce needed right now was to worry about Dick. “Dick, this is an important day for the school.”

“Right,” Dick said, pushing up from the couch. “I’ll just go get dressed, then.”

“Hurry. Alfred’s waiting outside.”

Dick all but ran from the room.  _ The school’s most important day of the summer. _ He couldn’t  _ believe _ he’d forgotten about Open House. Especially because Bruce Wayne was the biggest benefactor the school had, so they  _ had _ to show up and receive praise for being rich. Sometimes—all the time, really—Dick hated it. Anytime he had to accompany Bruce to something like this, there were all these whispers at the edge of everything. He was used to it now, but he knew what people said behind his back. He wasn’t stupid, and he definitely had  _ ears. _

Dick sighed as he walked into his room. His uniform was there, hanging up in his closet, but Dick didn’t have the slightest idea of when it had gotten there. He didn’t remember, so either that was lost, too, or Alfred had put it in there without Dick’s knowledge.

Once he was dressed in the new uniform specially ordered for the new school year, Dick made his way back downstairs. He felt disgustingly stiff in the clothes.

Bruce was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and he was frowning at his phone.

“What’s up?” Dick asked, peeking around Bruce’s arm to peer at the screen. All he saw was Lucius Fox’s name at the top before Bruce hit the sleep button. “Oh, come on, Bruce. It’s not like you can’t show me.”

“Lucius just needs me to look over some things when we get back.”

Dick didn’t believe him, but he dropped the subject and followed Bruce outside, where Alfred was waiting in the car. Bruce and Dick climbed into the backseat and Alfred took off down the driveway. Dick settled into his seat.

Bruce was stressed, and M’gann had missed restoring something in Dick’s memory. Two problems Dick had no idea how to fix.

Bruce was on his phone again, paying absolutely no attention to Dick, so Dick decided against bringing  it up.

“Are you excited to be starting school again soon, Master Dick?” Alfred asked from the front seat.

Dick shrugged. “I guess. But I don’t know why we have to have Open House so early.” Dick sighed, slumping against the window. “School doesn’t start for another two weeks.”

“They like to be prepared,” was Bruce’s semi-distracted answer. He still wasn’t looking at Dick. “They have a lot of kids from influential families attending, and the board doesn’t want to look anything but on top of things. Unfortunately, that includes having Open House two weeks early.”

“This sucks,” Dick told him.

Bruce didn’t disagree, so Dick took that as a win. Dick, 1. Life, a bajillion.

* * *

Unfortunately, Barbara’s dad was working tonight, so Dick was on his own with Bruce. And of course, thanks to his amazing luck, Bruce was frowning at his phone the whole time, really only looking up to greet the people who came up to him. Each conversation was pretty much the same, so Dick didn’t bother listening. He just went to each of his classes and got the necessary paperwork from each.

It was kind of like  _ Bruce _ was the one tagging along. Alfred had chosen to go back to the Manor and get dinner started. Dick was pretty fed up with the whole situation in general.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what had happened to him. He did. He’d shielded part of his identity from M’gann and now everything was fitting together weirdly. He didn’t remember signing up for any of these classes. He didn’t remember walking down the high school wing of the school, despite knowing he must have taken the tour back in May with the others. He didn’t remember taking his final exams, and that meant he was going to have to play catch up—jog his memory with last year’s old notes and tests to make sure he was where he should be.

It was going to be exhausting with everything else going on. Bruce wasn’t paying attention, so Dick didn’t even bother hiding anything about it, either.

When they’d visited every classroom, gotten every piece of paperwork, they stopped by the gymnasium, where the school board had set up shop. It was  _ socializing with rich people _ time. Dick couldn’t take more than five minutes of it.

“Hey, Bruce?” Dick called after the fourth person to shake Bruce’s hand had left. Bruce hummed questioningly, and Dick took that as a go ahead. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Bruce’s only answer was, “Just hurry back.”

Dick wasn’t planning on it.

* * *

After what had to be at least ten minutes, Dick was just standing there, staring at his own reflection above the sink. This was completely ridiculous. Bruce had gone through busy periods before. It didn’t mean Bruce didn’t  _ want _ to pay attention to him, and Dick needed to stop acting like a spoiled rich kid about it.

Maybe it was just the problems Dick was having with his own head. Maybe—maybe he didn’t have as much of a handle of his own problem as he’d thought, and maybe he wanted Bruce to act like he noticed or even cared about it.

But that wasn’t fair to Bruce, who was running the Justice League with Superman, and handling the Team’s missions—which came with a ton of research—and being Batman  _ and _ Bruce Wayne. He was one person and he didn’t have time for everything.

Dammit, they’d  _ talked _ about this. Way back when Dick had first become Robin, Bruce had sat him down and explained how hard it was to keep up with both lives. Bruce had explained how he could get distracted by one or the other, and Dick had witnessed it first hand before.

Maybe he should just talk to him, then. Get over his stupid pride. And just tell Bruce something was wrong without waiting for him to ask. Bruce had already proved so many times that he  _ did _ care, and Dick hated to hold things in like this. It was doing nothing, and Dick should have learned his lesson during their talk on the basketball court. Nothing good would come from keeping things a secret from Bruce.

He would talk to him. He had to. Even if it stressed Bruce out.

The door to the bathroom creaked open.

“Well, well, well,” a voice said from behind Dick, and it was all Dick could do not to close his eyes in exasperation. He looked in the mirror at the reflection of Michael Jones, a junior this year. Jones sneered at him. “Look who it is. The circus freak.”

Dick whirled around and plastered on a smile. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish here, but I’m leaving. Nice to see you again, Michael.”

But before he could leave, Jones put a hand on his shoulder, stopping Dick in his tracks. Dick could easily maneuver out of it, but he wasn’t desperate enough to pick a potentially identity-jeopardizing fight with Jones at an Open House, where Bruce and the school board were just outside in the gym.

“Where do you think you’re going, Grayson?”

“Uh, out?” Dick told him, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously, you’d think being a junior would lend you an extra brain cell or two. I’m using my legs, making them move so I can go out that door and away from you. That’s how walking away works.”

Jones sneered. “If you think you can just—”

“You really want to start something here?” Dick asked, shooting Jones a challenging smile he didn’t really feel. “Bruce is right outside, and you know the board is going to take his side no matter what.”

He hated using Bruce’s status like that, and he usually wouldn’t, but he wanted to get out of this bathroom and back home as soon as he could. It had only been last night that he’d had his mind shattered and then pieced back together, and he didn’t want anything to do with a jerk like Jones right now. He just wanted to go home. Go home and talk to Bruce.

Jones let go of his shoulder with a click of his tongue, and Dick was out of the bathroom the moment he could get away. He pushed past the swinging door and over to where Bruce was chatting with another socialite, his expression showing only a hint of how tired he looked.

Dick’s stomach dropped in guilt but he ignored it. There was nothing he could do, and this probably wasn’t  _ that _ serious. Bruce wouldn’t be too worried about. He would just reassure Dick that they’d get Martian Manhunter over or something, and then all of this would be over.

Dick made it to Bruce just as Bruce was shaking the other guy’s hand, and when the guy was gone, Dick looked up at Bruce.

“I want to go home,” Dick said.

Bruce sighed. “Me too. But I still haven’t met with the head of the school board yet.”

Dick blinked back the burning in his eyes and looked away. “Fine. You go talk to her and I’ll wait outside or something.” He made to walk away, but Bruce’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Bruce’s eyes were glinting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Dick bit his lip. “It’s not important right now. It can wait until later.”

“If something’s wrong,” Bruce said softly, “you need to tell me right now. You’ve been spacy all night.”

“It’s, uh, well. Some of it’s extracurricular stuff,” Dick says, and understanding bled into Bruce’s eyes. He grimaced, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dick fidgeted. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No.” Bruce nodded his head towards the doors. “I texted Alfred, and he’s waiting outside with the car. You go, and I’ll say goodbye to the director.”

Dick nodded, turning on heel and heading out of the gym. He tried very hard not to feel like he was running away.

* * *

Bruce rubbed his temples from where he was sitting behind the desk in the study. Dick was collapsed on the chair in front of the desk, staring at the ceiling, praying to whoever was listening—he was hoping it was M’gann or J’onn—to take him far, far away from here.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Bruce asked after a little while.

Dick shrugged. “By the time I realized that M’gann had missed some things, we were already running late for the Open House, and you’ve been busy.”

“Dick,” Bruce reprimanded, his voice sharp. “This is huge, and you should have said something the moment you noticed it.”

Shrugging again, Dick curled up in on himself. All he offered was a murmured, “Sorry.”

“I’m calling J’onn,” Bruce told him, standing up.

On a silent command, Dick pushed himself forward and followed Bruce into the Batcave. Bruce said nothing more as he led Dick down the stairs and over to the communicators. He hesitated, though, before he could press the button, and looked down at Dick.

Dick met his gaze, blinking. That was odd. “What?”

Bruce’s gaze swept over him once again. “You’re sure that’s all it is?”

“That’s it,” Dick confirmed, only a second later thinking of his encounter with Jones in the bathroom. But by the time the bully had come to mind, Bruce had already turned away and started contacting Martian Manhunter.

He tried not to feel too guilty about keeping  _ that _ problem from Bruce’s attention as Bruce started to explain the situation to J’onn. It was a problem he could handle, and definitely one for a different day.

For now, he just needed to focus on getting whatever part of his memory that hadn’t been restored  _ back. _

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr I'm camsthisky.tumblr.com


End file.
